HUMP was pretty good the other couple of years I saw it. It's playing this weekend and next and is about two blocks from my apartment, so I should see it again.
And so should you! Not sure what showing jinian and I will be going to, but if you are going we should at least make a token effort to coördinate. (For practically any value of "you" likely to be reading this entry.)
And for subject-line-pluralism's sake: Isabella Rosellini is doing her thing at the Moore this coming Monday. Also fun! More acceptable for mixed company! Many insects!
I seem to be basically voting the Stranger ticket again this year. Sawant, yay; McGinn, sure; not-Pope; not-Eyman; um… I might abstain on some of the offices I'm utterly ignorant about.
I'm on the fence about 522 and 19 though. What do y'all think?
I-522 as written seems pretty useless. It doesn't really tell you what you need to know; a useful version of that law would tell you what transgenes are in your food. As it is, it seems like at best I-522's labels would be like the universal and universally ignored notices on California buildings telling you that somewhere inside the building is some toxin or carcinogen. Except most GMO foods aren't even bad. I-522 doesn't even require disclosure of which ingredients in a processed food might be GM, which could give you a hint.
The arguments for it, in my mind, are that (a) it might be an intermediate step to getting better labeling, and (b) Monsanto's put a lot of money into the campaign against it, and if Monsanto's ag'in it it can't be all bad.
The other argument against I-522 is that most people avoiding GMO food are not avoiding it for good reasons and that labeling would simply encourage people to continue to make that ill-informed decision. But I think it's better to fight that particular battle with education and information rather than secrecy. (I know, I know, I'm an incorrigible optimist when it comes to things like that. Ask me about nuclear power.)
So as usual with initiatives I'm torn between favoring a halfassed measure that might be heading in a good direction vs. rejecting it in hopes it comes back in better form later.
Sometimes my dreams have an unusually cohesive plot. This time the holes in the dream-logic seemed to fit into an almost cinematic ambiguity. Was I abducted by the devil to work in Hell's brothel, or did I just die of a monoxide leak in that cheap motel room and go to Hell because (as I discovered at the end of the dream) I was a neo-Nazi? In either case, I spent all that time in Hell supposedly going to be a prostitute but in the meantime cleaning out the public baths and bathrooms. Whose idea was it to make urinals out of pumice and put them on that narrow ledge... oh right, it was Hell.
She (the dream had no names, so I'll call her S) escaped early in the dream using a spell, and the dream-viewpoint followed her long enough to show she'd made it and left some kind of tracking thing on the cat (of course the barracks of Hell's brothel's cleaning staff keeps a black cat as a pet). Maybe she would come back for me. My own escape failed. Later the woman from the other side of the house told me that S had been recaptured and was being tortured, but the woman seemed to be screwing with me (metaphorically, in addition to pretending to be a client) in return for some special treatment from the Devil. I never found out what happened to S, but when I returned to earth, only S's socks reappeared in the boarded-up motel room, which made sense to dream-me.
The room I returned to, next door to S's, was still in use but the woman occupying it seemed remarkably ready to believe my story after I showed her my cell phone's calendar indicating it had had no cell signal for six months. No cell service = Hell, obvs.
I got to watch the devil at work sometimes as I was carrying a bucket through Hell, although he was never quite in-frame as it were. He seemed to especially like tempting people who were waiting at a remote bus stop for a bus that wasn't showing up on time. I think those people were already sinners somehow and the Devil was just messing with them because he could, but possibly the Devil wanted to see how many people would sell their soul in return for the bus arriving on a cold winter road.
It was an emotionally taxing dream despite the usual bizarre dream-details. My coworker's torment seemed to include that they listened to music while scrubbing baths but their earbuds were always tangled. And I had enough spare time, apparently, to build a chiller out of some tubing and an ice chest for a kind of three-person beer-based water-pik ... why? Did I get part of some fraternity dentist's nightmare?
Contact lenses with a zoom mode. Sorta. (I can't read the paper but it sounds like they haven't worked out such minor details as aligning the annular shutter pattern to the wearer's gaze, being able to blink over a 1mm-thick angular object, etc.)